Requiem
by marirable
Summary: Sept-Tours, 1945. Philippe de Clermont's death hits hard for the remaining members of the family. [ch.: Baldwin de Clermont, Verin de Clermont, Freyja de Clermont]


The sky was surprisingly clear. Grey, but clear. No precipitation. A warm wind. The weather did not match the occasion, as fate would have it.

He felt deafened. Detached. Numb.

For a long moment, it seemed like he couldn't hear a thing. There had to be sounds around him, right? Trees wavering in the wind. People walking along the streets of the village. Hushed whispers in the chapel. The lid of the sarcophagus being placed on…

Wait, that's not right.

He wouldn't hear the sound of the sarcophagus lid being heavily moved into place. He'd moved it himself an hour ago.

Was someone helping him? No matter. Can't remember.

It was hard to breathe. Why did he feel like he was suffocating? Should probably loosen the tie.

Funny feeling.

Was this a nightmare, or had he really just laid to rest his own—

"Baldwin?"

His head snapped up, eyes blinking, waking from a trance he'd been in for the last… minute? Half-hour? Week? He couldn't tell. His sister was gently tugging at his sleeve.

"We're going back to the house," Verin said softly. It wasn't like her to be this nice. It was as though something had broken inside her. He'd witnessed it first-hand the last few days. "Are you joining us?"

Baldwin turned to face her, but it was like he couldn't even register who stood in front of him. Or what they wanted.

Verin called his name again. He didn't answer.

"Is he coming or what?" a shout reached them from the other side of the yard. They were in the yard? Interesting. How did he get here?

"Hold on, Freyja!" Verin shouted back.

"He doesn't get to be precious about it, Verin," Freyja replied in an irritated tone. Was she mad at him? "He's our _sieur_ now. Let him act like one."

Why was he…?

Ah.

Verin didn't respond with a retort. She was eyeing him carefully. Or so he thought.

"She's right, you know. Ysabeau is in no condition to act like the matriarch right now. And besides, it was all passed to you." He knew all that already.

He wasn't there when Philippe died. He was told about it.

_Ysabeau sat with his cold body for days, holding his hand in hers. Baldwin couldn't imagine her pain since he had yet to even comprehend his own. Standing in the next room, surrounded by his siblings, he was trying to accept what had happened, but he couldn't. He kept staring at the floor._

"_What do we do now?" he finally managed to say, not speaking to anyone in particular. He rarely required guidance. But right now, it seemed like a good time to seek it._

"_You decide," Verin said, her cheeks red with tears that already dried many times over. "Long live _sieur_ Baldwin."_

_Only then he finally managed to tear his gaze from the stone floor and look at his sisters and brother._

_It should have felt like an honour bestowed upon him. Like a mantle passed down on him that deemed him worthy. Yet it felt like a gut punch. Like an unwieldy weight on his shoulders._

_Like something that was never supposed to be passed to another. And every person in that room felt exactly the same way._

He pulled himself together enough to organise the funeral. Invite the family – and no one else. Enough to bark an order to keep Philippe's death a secret for some time – 'til the family was strong enough to survive without him.

The funeral was over. He made a pact with himself to hold it together until the funeral passed. But now what?

It truly was hard to breathe. He tugged at his tie, loosening it slightly.

Didn't help.

He ran his hand across his face and looked towards the house. Freyja was standing in front of it, her arms crossed at her chest. He turned to Verin. She knitted her brow. He cleared his throat.

"Where's—" He waved his hand weakly.

Had no idea whom he meant.

"Stasia's inside." Verin shook her head towards the castle. "Gallowglass is with Ysabeau now. Matthew's closing up the chapel."

He winced. Not sure if it was the mention of the chapel or the mention of Matthew.

He knew what he was told. He knew how much pain Philippe had been in at the very end. But he still needed someone to blame. Maybe it would make him feel better.

Anger started bubbling inside him. Every emotion he had bottled up lately was threatening to come out and he wasn't about to let loose on his siblings.

It wasn't what the head of the family was supposed to do, right?

He turned on his heel and strolled to his car.

"Where are you going?" Freyja shouted from afar, but he didn't pause. He heard Verin start towards her sister and say something to her. He didn't listen. He got into the vehicle, started the engine and took off towards the house he owned nearby.

Leaving the car parked just by the entrance, he entered the house, not bothering to lock the door behind him, passed through long corridors into the farthest bedroom, shrugged off his jacket and threw it on the bed.

More than two millennia ago he was approached by a man who had promised him an eternal life in exchange for his service and loyalty. He received resources, power and influence he'd only dreamed of having. He didn't ask for a father, but he'd received that as well, and Baldwin was right by his side throughout his seemingly endless life, happy to serve.

He wasn't prepared to not have a father anymore.

Sinking onto the foot of the bed, he buried his face in his hands and cried.


End file.
